Gone are they that dwelt before,
no warning click of closing door,
no drunkard’s feet to pound the floor,
they’re gone they’re gone they’re gone.
Gone is she enslaved to sink,
in fear of him his knowing wink,
for wild is he consumed with drink
(they’re gone they’re gone they’re gone).
No more she flung upon the bed,
a feast of lust before him spread,
abused and used and left for dead.
She’s gone she’s gone she’s gone.
And there stood he of death accused,
found guilty then and life to lose
he felt sharp tug of hangman’s noose.
He’s gone he’s gone he’s gone
And here evil dwells as did before,
it soaks the walls it soaks the floors.
I beg you please ne’er cross this door.
Be gone be gone be gone.
Brendan at Real Toads challenges us to write words which involve Doors and above is my offering. Cheers Brendan!
Also shared with the good folk at Poets United.
Brrr! I’m cold! The central heating’s dead and closed doors make little difference. (Hopefully it will be fixed tomorrow.)
Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons